International Vamp of Mystery
by pixiegiggles
Summary: Will the world's sexiest vamp-spy be and his new sidekick, Ms. Stackhouse, be able to save the world from Reverend Evil?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Soooo … I've been poking at this idea randomly on and off for a while now. I give you the short prologue here, and will probably post the next chapter this weekend. _

_So, in celebration of the completion of the Dead Pan Contest, here's just a bit of spoofin' fun … will probably round out at about 5 chapters. _

_By the way, the polls for the contest closed tonight, and we will be announcing the results on the 15__th__. Thank you so, so much to all who participated for this amazing contest! _

_Enjoy :) _

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_**1967**_

_**Somewhere in London**_

**{Cue happy, bouncy '60s pop music}**

Eric Northman rounds the corner, with a squealing gaggle of girls nipping at his heels. His eyes dart from left to right, desperately searching for an escape, lighting up when he spots the red Corvette pulling up just a few feet away. He zooms over with vampire speed and arrives beside the car just in time to jump into it before it speeds away. The mob of crazed girls is left standing there, utterly confused as to how the object of their stalking obsession has seemingly just disappeared into thin air.

"Hello, Mrs. Stackhouse," Eric purrs as his eyes drink in the delicious sight and scent of Adele Stackhouse, blond movie-star glamour waves blowing behind her as she speeds up, while pointedly ignoring the obviously fake projection of a 1960's London behind her.

"Hello, Eric." Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second before they are interrupted by the incessant high-pitched noise of a phone ringing. "That'll be Pam, Chief of the International Vampire League."

"Righty-o."

Mrs. Stackhouse laughs hysterically. "Oh, Eric. You know you sound absolutely ridiculous when you try to pull off English slang. God, I swear there's nothing worse than a fake English accent," she says with an eye roll.

Eric glares at his partner for a brief moment before turning to answer the call.

"Hello, Eric," Pam's low, monotonous tone drones out from screen of the now-revealed stowaway picture phone. "This is Pamela Ravenscroft, Chief of the International Vampire League. You're Eric Northman, International Man of Mystery, and you're with Agent Mrs. Stackhouse. The year is 1967—"

"Yeah, Pam. We already know all of that," Eric interrupts the Chief.

"Yes, well—I just wanted to be extremely clear so that everyone knows what's going on. Moving on then. We've just received word that Reverend Evil, has set a trap for you tonight at the Electric Psychedelic Pussycat Swinger's Club here in swinging London."

"Okay, Chief. We're on it."

"Good luck, Eric."

"Thank you."

"Oh, and Eric?"

"Yes?"

**{Insert overly-dramatic pause} **

"Be careful."

"Thank you," as the screen fades to black, Eric turns to Mrs. Stackhouse with a fangy grin. "Let's go, baby!"

_**The Electric Psychedelic Pussycat Swinger's Club**_

Eric is a bit distracted by the zoo of freaks inside, but Agent Mrs. Stackhouse does what she's best at: keeping him and his insatiable libido in check.

"Come on, Eric. We've got to find Reverend Evil!"

Eric shakes it off, and is about to follow her when something catches his eye. "Wait!"

He punches a cute mod girl, knocking her flat on her back.

The crowd parts and hisses.

"Eric!" Mrs. Stackhouse gasps. "Why in God's name did you strike that woman?"

"That ain't no woman! It's a Were!" The camera zooms in just as Eric turns to it, punctuating his wild accusation with an epic cocking of a brow before turning back to Mrs. Stackhouse. "And one of Reverend Evil's assassins."

Eric pulls off the girl's wig at the same time as she transforms into a hyena. She pounces for Mrs. Stackhouse with a crazy, manic laughter, but Eric jumps on her, getting the thing in a headlock and snapping its neck. The fur quickly disappears, leaving Eric sprawled on the floor with a now-naked would-be assassin, choking out her last breath.

He gets into her crumpled, horror-stricken face. "Where is Reverend Evil?"

The camera cuts to a hand clutched around a spear gun. Leaning over his perch, the gunman's snazzy white suit is set off against the darkness that surrounds him. The golden twinkle of a pinky ring embossed with the letter E catches the light just before the trigger is pulled.

The spear sinks into the assassin's chest. She gasps out her last breath, her body immediately going lax in Eric's arms.

Eric whips his head up in the direction the spear had come from. The crowd follows in unison, creating a whooshing sound that would later be part of every respectable sound engineer's repertoire.

Reverend Evil uses the distraction to make his escape.

**{Cue dizzying chase music}**

By the time the agents catch up to him, Reverend Evil is buckling himself into a futuristic-looking egg-shaped chair.

"I've got you again, Reverend Evil!" Eric proclaims with confidence.

But Reverend Evil just smirks and the chair is instantly flooded with a cloud of white mist. Reverend Evil's slim body and trademark gravity-defying pompadour is immediately swallowed up by the mist as he answers, "Not this time, Northman. Go, Mr. Tiggersworth! Make your daddy proud!"

Out of the mist, an enormous tiger leaps out, knocking Eric to the ground before it bounds away. Eric props himself up on a forearm as Reverend Evil's taunt travels from behind the ever-thickening mist. "See you in the future, blood-suckah!"

Eric jumps to his feet as Reverend Evil's maniacal cackles echo all around them. The doors to the escape hatch close, revealing attractive white lettering that complement the stainless steel of the contraption rather nicely. They spell out:

CRYOGENIC FREEZING BEGINNING

"Jesus Christ, Shepherd of Judea!" Mrs. Stackhouse gasps, clapping a hand to her mouth. "He's freezing himself."

Eric chuckles as he pulls out his gun. "Oh, how I do enjoy your charming American ___colloquialism__s_, Mrs. Stackhouse."

The room is filled with the sounds of gunshots as both agents' utterly futile attempts to make a dent in the escape hatch fail miserably; the bullets simply bounce off the contraption uselessly. The ceiling opens and the steel egg takes off into the night.

The teeming street outside grinds to a halt as all faces lift to the sky, watching with gaping mouths and pointing, disbelieving fingers as the Bob's Big Boy disengages itself from the building and shoots off into the sky.

_**Somewhere just outside the earth's atmosphere**_

Reverend Evil folds in on himself, his whole body trembling violently. His hair, always a marvel of deft styling and hair product, has collapsed in on itself as well. It is impossible to tell if his quaking is caused by the freezing process, or the overwhelming emotions of rage and humiliation caused by yet another defeat. Perhaps it's all of the above. He narrows his eyes, pushing back the emo tears.

Everyone knows real villains don't cry.

"I'll be back, Mr. Northman," he vows through blue, shivering lips. "When free love is dead, and greed and avarice once again rule the world. See how far your good looks, irresistible charm and unrivaled sexual prowess will get you then!"

**_Fade to black_**

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_A/N: Hope you had as many gigglesnorts as I did writing it ;D_

_A/N: Thank you to my bestie beta nycsnowbird for lending me her talented hawk eyes. _

_Disclaimer: Nothing is mine._


	2. Chapter 2

_**1997**_

_**Thirty years later**_

_(Yes, we don't think you can do simple math. Are we wrong? Hmm?)_

**{Cue sinister villain music}**

The grinning Bob's Big Boy floated past the Earth, the evil theme music picking up steam as the Big Boy descended towards our planet.

_**NORAD Combat Operations center**_

_**Colorado Springs, Colorado**_

As soon as the other line picked up, the agitated balding man started to speak into the phone in a frenzied rush, alerting the square jawed, thin lipped, stiff suit type on the other side of the split screen that a yet-to-be identified object had just been spotted entering the earth's atmosphere.

The stiff suit sat up even straighter, if that was physically possible. "What does it look like?"

"Well … it does have an odd shape, sir."

"What exactly are you saying, son?"

"Well … it appears to be in the shape of a Bob's Big Boy, Commander Compton."

The Commander's eyebrows shot up. "Oh. My. God! He's back."

"In many ways, Bob's Big Boy never left, sir. He's always offered the same high quality meals at competitive prices."

"Shut up, you imbecile. What's its current position?"

The now cringing man looked over at the radar screen, then blinked in disbelief. "Uh … it _was_ over Nevada a second ago, but … it seems to have just disappeared!"

The Commander rose to his feet with a deathly-still control, the kind gained from too many years staring death in the face. "Listen son, I want you to forget what you saw here tonight."

"But, Sir—I have to log it."

"No, you only have to do what I tell you to, and I am telling you … you did not see a thing!"

The other man's eyes glazed over just before he nodded in wordless assent.

The Commander slammed the phone down. After pacing the room in silent contemplation, he picked up the phone again and dialed up his assistant. Once he gave her a long and overly detailed list of instructions for taking care of his affairs, he had her book a seat for him on the next flight to London.

_**International Vampire League**_

_**London, England**_

Chief Ravenscroft, looking not a day older than the last time we saw her thirty years ago, is sitting at the head of a conference table. "As you know, gentlemen, Reverend Evil had himself frozen in 1967. Since then, Eric Northman has laid _mostly_ low, at his love ranch in the hills of Hollywood—much to the delight of Valley girls everywhere. We let him drop off into semi-retirement, with the understanding that he would be pulled back in when Reverend Evil resurfaced. We believe that time has now come, and that, gentlemen, is why we're all here."

Everyone around the table was frowning, except for Eric, who had a shit-eating grin plastered all over his too-gorgeous mug. "So when do I start?"

"Immediately," the Chief answered. "You will be working with Ms. Stackhouse."

Eric's grin grew impossibly wider. "Ah, Excellent. But … Don't you mean _Mrs_. Stackhouse?"

"No, Eric. _Mrs._ Stackhouse retired years ago. _Ms._ Stackhouse is her granddaughter."

The Chief had barely finished her sentence when the door swung open, revealing a pair of shapely, golden legs clad in a charcoal gray pencil skirt paired with smart two-inch loafer pumps that were conservative yet somehow manage to be sexy as all fuck.

Eric was equal parts perplexed by the contradiction as he was turned on.

"Ah, speak of the devil," Pam purred with more than a hint of devious satisfaction in her voice.

As sexy-legs approached, her perfectly groomed golden hair blew all around her music-video style, revealing the exquisite curve of her neck, plump, pouty lips and sky-blue eyes framed by thick-rimmed librarian-hot glasses. The stack of official-looking papers clutched in one hand, leather briefcase in the other, were the perfect accessories to complete the look.

She certainly wasn't Eric's usual 'type', but he found himself _quite_ intrigued.

"Eric, Sookie is one of our top agents," the Chief's voice interrupted Eric's ogling-induced daze.

"I'll tell you what I'd like to get on top of_," _he muttered.

"_Excuse me_?" Sookie huffed.

"Oh, nothing," Eric responded, waving his hand dismissively.

_Holy fuck, she's got a hot body. I'll bet she fucks like a_ ….

He is taken aback when sees that Sookie's mouth has dropped to the floor, her eyes bugging out. "Oh, shit. Did I just say that out loud? Do I have no internal monologue?"

Sookie shakes her head. "Uh, no. It's just that … I'm a telepath."

Now it's Eric's turn to be horror-stricken.

"Actually, it's weird. I usually can't read Vamps. You must be broadcasting exceptionally loud for some odd reason."

There is an awkward silence.

Chief Ravenscroft cleared her throat. "Splendid. Well then, now that we've all gotten acquainted … Eric, I'd like you two to work very closely together to catch Reverend Evil. As I said, Agent Stackhouse is the best. She's dedicated—perhaps a little too dedicated, if you catch my drift," she paused, giving Sookie a pitying look before turning back to Eric with her hand shielding her mouth conspiratorially. "She's got a bit of a bug up her ass. Perhaps you could help her with that."

After Eric and Pam got a good laugh out of that, much to Sookie's consternation, Pam sobered up and shrugged. "Right. Where were we? Ah, yes. Good luck, Eric. The world's depending on you."

"Thanks, Chief."

"Oh, and Eric?"

"Yes?"

**{Insert overly-dramatic pause}**

"Be careful."

"Thanks."

_**Somewhere outside Las Vegas**_

_**Dr. Evil's underground lair**_

**{insert ominous villain music}**

The golden E of Reverend Evil's pinkie ring managed to catch the minimal light available in the dark, underground chamber, as his hand retraced its path along the body of the magnificent tiger standing beside him. The sound of the tiger's purrs filled the room as it raised its back quarters up with every affectionate pass of its master's sickly pale paw.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Reverend Evil broke the anticipation-filled silence. "Welcome to my underground lair. It's been thirty years, but I'm 's gone perfectly to plan except for one small flaw. Due to a technical error by my henchmen, Twining, complications arose in the unfreezing process.

"Impossible!" Charles Twining scoffed, his black eye patch sticking to the sweat that began to gather at an alarming rate along his brow. "My design was perfect!"

"Look what you did to my hair! My beautiful hair! It's ALL. GONE!" Reverend Evil whined, slamming his palm on the table since he was sitting and was unable to stomp his feet properly.

"But Reverend Evil, we were unable to anticipate follicle complications in the reanimation process. That, coupled with your apparent genetic propensity for male pattern baldness, and—"

"Silence!" Reverend Evil tilted his chin haughtily, glowering down his nose at the incompetent pirate henchmen. "Look at me! You have turned me into a freak of nature!"

Twining's sweat now dripped down his chin, drenching his shirt, as his eyes darted about nervously. "Reverend Evil, there have been many advances in the science of hair replacement. May I suggest—"

"Shut it, you bungling nitwit!" Reverend Evil hissed, slamming down on a little red button at the NASA-esque control panel that was situated on the table, always within Reverend Evil's considerably short arm's reach. The Reverend was not blessed with any vertical advantage, but as if to top the disgrace of his small stature, he had been cursed with arms that were disproportionately short as well.

Twining's chair tipped backwards, pitching the pirate back as flames shot up all around him. As his screams faded away, the chair popped back up, charred with smoke still rising from it.

"Let this be a reminder to you all that this organization will not tolerate failure."

Reverend Evil paused for dramatic effect, petting the now seated tiger. However, his intended purpose was foiled when the silence was interrupted by the muffled screams of the still very much alive and kicking pirate.

The Reverend looked down disdainfully at the direction of the offending sound, mimicked by his snarling overgrown cat, as they both assessed the glowing embers of the pit visible through the floor vent.

Satisfied, Reverend Evil turned back to his associates of the evil roundtable. "Gentlemen, let's get down to business, shall we?"

Except, his villainous monologue was interrupted once again at another round of Twining's muffled screams.

Reverend Evil attempted to ignore the nuisance by speaking over it, distracting himself by petting the thick fur of the tiger beside him, which had jumped to its feet and into a defensive stance. "We've got a lot of work to do."

"Someone help me!" Twining's plea cut in. "I'm still alive, only I'm very badly burned."

"Some of you I know, some of you I'm meeting for the first time …." Reverend Evil pressed on.

Twining's cries for help grew desperate. "Hello up there! Anyone! Could someone get me some TrueBlood? I am in quite a lot of pain, and I cannot heal without it."

Pursing his lips as his rage multiplied exponentially by the nanosecond, Reverend Evil continued. "You've all been gathered here to form my Evil Cabinet. Oh, for the love of—" he ground his teeth, tamping down his rage as it threatened to boil over.

"Excuse me," he said with an annoyed smile, picking up the nearby phone. After speaking into it in a dangerously low voice, he set down the receiver and spun around in his chair to face away from his minions as he waited for his instructions to be carried out. His fingers drummed along the armrest, ticking away the insufferable seconds.

Twining piped up again, most annoyingly. "If somebody could just open the retrieval hatch down here, I could get out. See, I designed this device myself and ... oh, hi! Finally! Listen, I'm very badly burned, so if you could just—"

He was cut off mid-sentence with a gunshot.

Reverend Evil swiveled back around to face his minions. "Right. Okay. Moving on then."

"Ow! You shot me! You shot me right in the arm!" Twining cried. "Why did—"

Several more gunshots went off.

Reverend Evil cocked his head, waiting.

Nothing.

But just when the Reverend opened his mouth to speak again, Twining's aggravating whine interrupted him again, causing him to snap his jaw tight with violent, seething fury.

"You cannot dispose of me with that," Twining's half sneer, half gasp was indignant. "You need silver bullets, you idiot!"

There was some radio static and incoherent mumbling, followed by more of Twining's pathetic incessant whimpers and moans, as Reverend Evil burned a hole into the ceiling with his simmering glare, drumming his fingers against the table.

After minutes that seemed to drag out interminably, there were some muffled footsteps, followed by several more gunshots.

Silence.

And yet more blissful silence.

At last.

With a nod of finality, Reverend Evil's fingers stilled before moving his hand to lay at his arm rest. "Right. Okay … shall we do an icebreaker then?" his lip twisted into a crooked smirk before he dismissed the ridiculous notion with a wave of his hand. "Nah. I'll just make the introductions.

"First off, we have Mistress Newlin. She puts the _low_ in Fellowship of the Sun … nothing is beneath her, and this is why I love this woman. She has been tending to the church, as well as training and arming our holy army, the Soldiers of the Sun."

Sara Newlin, all sweeter-than-apple-pie blond and blue eyes, tucked into a leather cat suit, beamed most proudly at Reverend Evil.

"Next we have Chow, our resident vampire assassin, and just general evil handyman extraordinaire. His trademark? Like the energizer bunny, you just can't keep this vampire down."

Chow nodded his head curtly in silent confirmation.

"Finally, I come to my number two man. His name: Number Two, but he also answers to John Quinn and, of course, Mr. Tiggersworth." Reverend Evil gave the tiger at his side one final chin rub before letting go.

In the next moment, the massive beast transformed itself into a human and then proceeded to wrap his impressive naked form with the robe that hung off of Reverend Evil's chair. He took his position beside the Reverend, hands clasped in front of himself and looking like a perfectly normal run-of-the-mill bodyguard.

That is, except for the silk robe, parted to reveal the wiry forest of his chest hair.

Reverend Evil continued, looking up at his right hand tiger-man with pride. "For thirty years, Number Two has run E(E)E, the legitimate face of my evil empire. It is serves as a convenient in to the degenerate supernatural community. Er … no offense, guys," Reverend Evil added, throwing the vampires in the room an apologetic smile before returning his affectionate gaze to Number Two.

"None taken," Number Two's purr was almost inaudible.

The two exchanged tender smiles before Reverend Evil snapped himself out of it. "Gentlemen, I have a plan. It's called blackmail. Either the Vampire authorities, or union–or whatever it is those bloodsucking monsters like to call it—pay us an exorbitant sum of money, or we will reveal their existence to the general human population."

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Number Two spoke up. "Um … Reverend Evil? I hate to be the one to break it to you, but … I'm afraid the vampires already revealed themselves a few years ago. It was a big shebang, complete with live, international broadcast and everything. It was a bigger party than Mardi Gras." He added with a revolted shudder.

"People! You have to tell me these things. I've been frozen for thirty years! Throw me a bone here." His eyes snapped to Number Two. "Oh, sorry. No pun intended. Pinkie promise." He wiggled his crooked little ring-adorned finger as a show of good will.

Quinn purred and accepted the Reverend's peace offering with a dismissive wave.

"Alrighty, then. Let me think." Reverend Evil muttered, tapping his steepled fingers to his lips. "I suppose we will just have to go back to Evil basics. The oldies but goodies. Tried but true. Classics never go out of style … right, well, anyway, you know what I mean." Reverend Evil straightened, flatting his palms on the table as he leaned forward, the malevolent glint returning to his eyes. "We will just have to hijack some nuclear weapons and hold the world hostage."

"Okay, here's the plan. We get a rogue warhead, and we put the fate of the world in the hands of the vamps. If they do not pay up, the world will be plunged into the depths of utter destruction and despair … and it will all be blamed on them. Unless, that is … they pay us a ransom of …" Reverend Evil posed for his villain mug close-up, putting his pinkie to his mouth and cocking a brow. "For one _MILLLLION_ dollars."

There was another uncomfortable silence, punctuated only with awkward shuffles.

Number Two was the one to speak up, yet again. "Don't you think we should ask for more than a million dollars? A million dollars isn't that much money these days. I mean, E(E)E alone makes over twenty billion dollars a year."

"Oh, really? There's that much money in freaky-deaky parties? Huh." Reverend Evil was both pleased and disgusted, before he turned his attention back to his evil plot. "O-kaaaaay. We hold the world ransom for … one-hundred _BILLION_ dollars."

_**Eric's Private Jet**_

"So, _lover_, how do you like my jumbo jet?" Eric leaned back in his beanbag chair, waggling his brows.

Sookie shook her head and refused to raise her eyes from the screen of her laptop.

"I'm gonna need you to sign these release forms."

"Release forms?"

"Yes. Now that you are officially working for the ministry of defense again, these forms will indemnify the ministry of any, er, mishaps that may occur in the line of duty."

"Mishaps? But isn't that what being an International Vamp of Mystery is all about?"

Sookie shook her head, unable to hide the smile that tugged at her lips.

Eric clicked open a pen as he picked up the forms with an exaggerated sigh. "Okay … name. Eric Northman. Sex? Yes please!" he purred with a fangy grin and an impressive eyebrow waggle.

When this elicited a snicker from Sookie, he was encouraged. "So, tell me … how does an exquisite woman such as yourself end up working at the Ministry of Defense?"

Sookie sighed and took off her glasses, giving Eric her full attention. "Well, I double majored in psychology and public relations and graduated at the top of my class. After being stuck in the middle of a natural disaster during my graduation-celebration trip, my ability was inadvertently discovered. After fending off the FBI and CIA for several months … well, let's just say the Vamp League made me an offer I couldn't turn down." Her tone suddenly turned excited and confiding at the same time, "You know, if I do well with this case, I finally get promoted to field operative ..."

"Cool, cool. Listen, wouldn't you be more comfortable back there in my bed, _lover_?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, you will be if you don't take this opportunity to meet this Viking's horn."

Eyebrow waggle.

"Pardon?"

"To unsheathe this Viking sword."

"I must be hearing things."

"To feast on the Northman smorgasbord. It's gourmet, baby."

"Mr. Northman, please," Sookie all but snarled. "I know that you haven't been among the living—er, I should say, in proper company—perhaps for quite some time. But we have a very serious situation to handle. I'd appreciate it if you'd concentrate on our assignment, and table your, uh … buffet, or whatever it was you called it."

"Have you ever made love?"

Sookie grunted.

"To a vampire?"

She shot him a death glare.

"35,ooo feet above the ground? It gives flying a whole new meaning."

Sookie snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Can I, uh… show you something?"

**{Cue Barry White smexin' music}**

Eric took off his jacket and sashayed over to the bed, crooking a finger at her. He patted the bed next to him. "C'mon. I won't bite … hard. That is, unless you want me to."

Sookie let out a snort, but then relented with a heavy sigh. "Alright, fine."

After she seated herself next to him, being careful to leave plenty of space between them, Eric's looked at her, his expression dead-serious. "If I ask you a question, Sookie, will you be honest with me?"

"Yeah, sure."

Eric slammed down the button next to the bed, causing it to start rotating. "Do I make you horny?"

"What?"

"Do I make you horny? You know, hot and bothered."

"Ugh. Get off of me!" She pushed him off and jumped off the bed.

"I do, don't I?"

"You can wipe that smug smirk off your face right now, Mr. Northman." When it only got wider, Sookie snarled. "Since you're having an issue grasping this, let me spell it out for you so it's as clear as can be. I will _never_ have sex with you, _ever_. If you were the last man on Earth—vampire, human, whatever—and I was the last woman on Earth, and the future of the human race depended on our having sex simply for procreation, I still would not have sex with you. Oh, and by the way—do me a favor and stop calling me lover, or baby. We are not in some porno or smut book. Seriously, who even says that? Anyways, you may address me as Agent Stackhouse."

Eric bounced on the bed and stretched out his impressively long legs, resting his head in his palm.

"Really, lover, why waste all this time? Sooner or later, you _will_ yield to me."

_**The Extremely Elegant Casino**_

_**The High rollers table**_

After checking into the hotel, Eric and Sookie headed to the casino.

As they made their way through the main gaming room with arms linked, Sookie leaned in a little, "So, Eric, there's a company in Las Vegas called E(E)E. We think it may be linked to Dr. Evil. It is rumored the E(E)E owns this casino, and that many many of its executives like to play here."

"Smashing! Let's go then."

They immediately spotted some likely suspects at the high-roller table. Sharing a brief knowing look and smirk with each other, they made their way over.

"Do you mind if I join you?" Eric asked.

"Not at all," the extremely bulky bald man turned as he answered, smiling politely and revealing a tiger print eye patch.

As Eric took a seat, the dealer dealt a card. "Twenty."

Baldie pursed his lips, and Eric noticed the almost-imperceptible movement of his eye toward the deck of cards. "Hit me."

Cool and confident; not even a hint of a quiver to his voice. Either he had balls of steel—or a trick up his sleeve.

The dealer cocked a brow. "You have twenty Sir."

"I like to live dangerously."

The dealer complied, lowering his head. "Ace. Twenty-one."

The whole table withdrew a collective, awed breath followed by clapping and hooting as the dealer turned to Eric.

Eric got a two and a three. He cocked his head, as if sniffing the air. "I'll … stay."

"But sir, you only have a five."

"Yes, well, I _also_ like to live dangerously." Eric replied, giving Baldie a significant stare accompanied by a raised eyebrow.

The house's eighteen easily beat Eric's hand.

"Ah, well, I must admit—cards are not really my thing." Eric said, turning back toward Baldie. "Let me introduce myself. My name is Edward Cullen. And this is my wife, Bella."

Baldie smirked. "Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr… _Cullen_. My name is Number Two, and this is my companion, Alotta. Alotta Pelt."

"Pardon?"

"Alotta Pelt," the woman repeated.

Eric shuddered.

"Something the matter, Mr. Cullen?" Alotta purred.

"Oh, it's just that … I really can't stand hair. It makes me think of dirty animals. And, your last name … well, never mind. It's nothing personal, I assure you."

"Huh, really? That's … so odd. I LOVE hair. _Everywhere_. But I do agree, it does make me think of an animal. A wild, sexy beast," Alotta replied, making a claw out of her hand. "RAWRRR."

Eric swallowed his disgust and concealed it with a thousand-watt fake smile. "Right, well … to each his own, I suppose. So, what exactly do you do Number Two?"

"That's no one's business but my own. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go to the little boy's room."

Eric turned to Sookie and muttered under his breath. "You keep your eye on the secretary. We'll rendezvous back at the hotel suite."

Eric followed Number Two into the little boy's room without further delay.

_**The Extremely Elegant Casino**_

_**The little boys room**_

When Eric got inside, Number Two was nowhere in sight. He busied himself at the sinks, fluffing his hair, while he waited to see if Baldie would emerge from any of the stalls.

The door swung open, revealing a very large cowboy, dressed in black from head to toe.

"Howdy," his voice boomed and his spurs jingled as he walked toward the mirror. His eyes raked over Eric's trademark attire with hungry appreciation, leisurely taking in the skin-tight leather pants and black silk shirt, unbuttoned to the mid-chest, of course. "Holy sheep shit! That is one porntastically delicious getup you got there, fella."

"Ah, thank you." Eric gave him a polite smile and held back the gag as the cowboy over-applied his sickeningly-sweet cologne.

Eric shuffled off into one of the stalls, sitting down for appearance's sake. He could hear the Cowboy going into the adjacent one.

"Hey pardner?"

_Fucking Cowboys._ _Worse than the country music they spew._ "Yeah?"

"Have a good one!"

"O-kaaaay. Likewise."

"Yeah, ya know what they say … ya don't buy food, you rent it."

Eric just grunted an agreement as he settled into the seat.

He looked back just in time to see Chow's murderous grin as he slipped a silver wire around his throat. Eric grabbed onto the assassin's wrists, holding him off by mere inches. After a few minutes of struggling and grunting, the Cowboy spoke up.

"Hey, pardner—you gotta relax, man. Don't force it. You're liable ta tear somethin' thataway."

Eric dug his fingernails into his assassin's skin, eliciting a yelp. Taking advantage of the situation, he ducked out of his arms and put him into a headlock. "Who does Number Two work for?"

"That's right!" the Cowboy cheered him on, slapping the side of the stall approvingly. "You show that turd who's boss!"

"Who does Number Two work for? Answer me, dammit!"

"Go to hell." Chow choked out.

Eric forced him to his knees, sticking his head into the toilet as he flushed it. The assassin gurgled and jerked for a few eternally long moments before every muscle in his body went lax. Eric reached around into the hit-man's pocket and took out his wallet before letting him collapse onto the floor. Inside, he found an ID that read "Chow, Evil Associate," as well as a few E(E)E business cards, one with a very familiar name—Alotta Pelt.

As he left the stall, he heard the Cowboy gasp behind him. "Sweet Baby Jesus! What in the _hell_ did you eat?"

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_A/N: Thank you to my bestie beta nycsnowbird for lending me her talented hawk eyes. _

_Disclaimer: _Charlaine Harris_ owns SVM, Mike Meyers owns everything sexy-spy. I'm just taking 'em out for a little ride ;D  
_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Lots n' lots of slobbery Nutella kissies to my FF wifey, youbetta, for betaing this random chappie I all but threw at her. I lurrrrve you gurrrl! *muah!*_

_And, as always, I own nothing … 'cept my horribly warped sense of humor._

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_**Reverend Evil's Lair**_

Reverend Evil beamed with barely contained giddiness as he looked across the table at his Evil Associates. "Gentlemen … we have secured the warhead. Now the real fun can begin. Number Two, patch me through to the Vampire League Security Secret meeting room."

_**The Vampire League Security Secret Meeting Room**_

"Good evening gentlemen, or shall we say, eternally damned children of Satan? There is no reason for pretense, I suppose," Reverend Evil sneered from the overhead screen. "Well, then … where was I? Ah, yes. Don't worry, I will make this quick. My name is Reverend Evil. In a little while, you'll find out that a nuclear warhead has gone missing from a foreign country with a name that is far too difficult to pronounce."

Reverend Evil paused to give his words the full dramatic effect they demanded. "Now, unless you want the whole world to be plunged into untold misery and destruction, and blamed on you evil bloodsucking hellbeasts, you will pay me …." Reverend Evil preened for his villain close-up. "One _MEEEEEEEELLLLION_ dollars!"

Chief Ravenscroft, seated at the head of the table, raised an eyebrow and smirked while the rest of the vampire delegates burst into laughter around her.

Reverend Evil spit out a string of curses and looked back at a very irritated Number Two. "Sorry!" he mouthed, before turning back to face the vampires for another award-winning villain Close-up. "One-hundred _BEEEEEEEELLLLION_ dollars."

He delivered it perfectly, of course, complete with a cocked brow and a pinkie raised to his evil smirk.

The room dissolved into a mayhem of growls, anger, and fear.

The unmistakable popping sound of a multitude of descending fangs was pure music to Reverend Evil's ears.

"Silence!" The Chief hissed at the assembled vampires. "Now, Mr. Evil—"

"That's _Reverend_ Evil! I didn't spend the better part of my youth in evil Ministry school to be called 'mister', thank you very much! _Especially_ not by the undead likes of you!"

"Oh, pardon me," the Chief replied, the eye roll evident in her voice, if not her face. "_Reverend_ Evil. It is the policy of the Vampire League not to negotiate with mad, fanatical religious types, even ones with mighty big … guns." She added with a disdainful smirk.

"Really? So long then." The Reverend barely managed to contain his glee as he turned away from the screen, and the transmission cut out.

_**Reverend Evil's Lair**_

Reverend Evil all but skipped his way back toward his evil associates. "Gentlemen, exactly five days from now, the world will come to hate those evil bloodsuckers, and each and every one of them will be hunted down and destroyed without us having to lift another finger. Oh, and as an added bonus, if those vamps are stupid enough to pay the ransom, we will also be one-hundred _BILLION_ dollars richer."

Reverend Evil threw his head back and roared with maniacal cackles.

His evil associates joined him in his nefarious mirth.

There was a pause, then they looked at each other and laughed even harder.

Their laughter grew to a violent crescendo; the evil glee quaking through their entire bodies until it died away awkwardly again. They went for another few rounds of malevolent elation, but each one came out quieter, more forced and wooden than the last.

Finally, the silence settled, thick and heavy. The associates shifted about uncomfortably not knowing what to do with themselves.

"Right, well. Anyways …." Reverend Evil muttered as he glanced around awkwardly, not exactly sure how to end the scene properly as they so obviously should have faded to black about 5 minutes ago. "I think I'm going to go amuse myself with the latest episode of Jersey shore. Those kids … so crazy," he shook his head, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he shuffled off.

_**Adele Stackhouse's residence**_

_**Bon Temps, LA**_

Adele Stackhouse set down her romance novel as she reached over to answer the phone.

"Hello? Gran?"

A radiant smile lit up Mrs. Stackhouse's face. "Oh, Sookie! Hi honey! How's everything going?"

"Oh, okay, I guess." Despite her lukewarm response, Sookie couldn't help but smile at her Gran's infectious cheer, and the warm adoration that was so apparent in her voice, even though she was thousands of miles away.

"And how's Eric?"

Sookie glanced over to the coffin at the opposite side of the suite. "Dead. For the day."

"Oh. Ohhhh, I see. Sookie, you didn't …."

"Oh, Gosh no, Gran! You know I'm not that kind of girl!" Sookie protested, her voice dripping with indignation. "I made him stay in his coffin."

"Oh. Well, in that case … I'm very proud of you, honey."

Sookie narrowed her eyes. "Uh … why?"

"Because you managed to resist Eric Northman's charms. That is no, uh … how shall I put this? _Small_ task."

Sookie laughed with her grandmother. Nope, nothing about Eric Northman was anywhere near small, that was for damn sure.

"Well, God knows he tried, but I've been firm with him, Gran." Sookie froze as she realized the double meaning of her poor choice of words. Smacking her forehead, she managed to find her voice again, "Um … Gran? Why didn't you warn me he was so obsessed with sex?"

"Oh hun, you simply can't judge him by modern standards. It's not really fair. I mean, you have to remember, not only is he vampire—who as you know have much different sex drives than us humans—but he's also a Viking warrior. Even back when he was human, he only had to point to whatever, or rather, whoever he wanted."

Sookie made a disgusted snorting sound. "Right, but he's had one thousand or so years to figure out how our world works, Gran. Even if he's a bit slow on the uptake, that should've given him _puhhhlenty_ of time." She dragged out the word 'plenty' with an epic eye roll to match.

"Sookie, you have to understand. Between his god-like good looks and his unsurpassed sexual prowess, well … let's just say I don't think he's ever had any complaints."

"Ewww, Gran!" Sookie shuddered with disgust.

"Oh you just wait, dear. Once Eric works his magic … well, you'll find it harder and harder to resist."

"Gran!" Sookie gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth as her eyes grew so wide they almost popped out of her head. "Oh my god! Did you ever—"

"Of course not, dear! Fintan always kept me happy, and more than satisfied."

Sookie rolled her eyes. Her Gran had never been the conventional type, from the fact that she felt no shame in being in an unorthodox relationship with her grandfather—living together but never getting officially married—to the way she unabashedly disclosed details no grandmother should really share with her grandkids. But, it was all part of her charm, and yet another reason why Sookie absolutely adored her.

Focusing back on the present topic, Sookie pressed on, "O-kaaaay, but did you ever want to?"

Adele Stackhouse let out a long, heavy sigh, tilting her head as she considered her answer. "Eric is very charming. He's handsome, witty, sophisticated, a world-renowned photographer. A brilliant spy who always gets his bad guy. Well, almost always, but whatever." Mrs. Stackhouse dismissed the only chink in Eric's armor with a wave of her hand. "Women want him, men want to be him. A legend in his own time! He's a lover of life and every bit an International Man of Mystery."

"Gran," Sookie scoffed. "You still didn't answer the question."

Mrs. Stackhouse chuckled. "I will say this, dear. Eric was the most loyal and caring friend I ever had. I could always count on him, and … and he'll always have a very special place in my heart."

After saying their goodbyes, Sookie hung up the phone and hurried off to the bathroom to get ready. After all, they had a very busy night ahead of them; there was only about an hour left until Eric would rise, and they would be heading out to stakeout the E(E)E headquarters soon after.

_**E(E)E headquarters**_

"Eric, a limo just pulled up," Sookie whispered as she continued watching through her dainty little binoculars.

"Let me see," Eric replied, muscling into the shot as he pulled out a camera outfitted with a tremendously long telephoto lens.

They both looked on as Number Two exited the building, looked to the left and to the right in a classic making-sure-the-coast-is-clear sweep before proceeding to shift into an enormous tiger right before their eyes. The massive beast then jumped into the open window of the waiting limousine.

As the car sped away, Eric and Sookie spotted a familiar logo decaled onto the back window.

The both looked at each other and whisper-gasped at the same time. "E(E)E!"

"Eric, how the hell did Number Two turn himself into a … a … _cat_? I mean, I've heard of witches turning their scorned lovers into toads, or somethin', but …."

"Sookie, that's no ordinary cat—that's Reverend Evil's cat!"

"But … how can you be so sure?"

"Oh, lover, I never forget a pussy ... cat."

Sookie snickered and walked over to the Corvette. Sitting on the hood, she looked over her shoulder at Eric as she tossed her hair back. "So, I guess we're done here?"

Eric was nearly knocked over at the sight of her—wild, blonde waves, disheveled from crouching behind the bushes during their stakeout, cascaded down her back and her skin was almost iridescent in the desert moonlight.

"My god, Sookie. You are a vision!"

Sookie looked away and tried to deflect the compliment, but Eric wouldn't allow it. Instead, he somehow managed to disarm her into blushing and giggling like a giddy schoolgirl, and then had her actually vamping it up for his camera.

After an impromptu and fun-filled photo shoot, they settled themselves into the car.

As they were pulling out of the E(E)E driveway, Eric turned to Sookie. "C'mon lover. I'm gonna take you out, show you the sights."

True to his word, Eric took Sookie out for a night on the town as only he was capable of.

There was a full course dinner on top of a cherry-red double-decker bus, complete with the romantic lighting of neon flashing lights, as it made its way along the Vegas strip.

There was dancing to that classic Vegas staple of a serenade, complete with the soft jazz notes of an accompanying piano.

There were horribly trite yet strangely endearing gestures, like red roses and hand-kissing, all set against a backdrop of the horrendously fake-looking Vegas skyline.

And, all along, there was much champagne. Perhaps much, much, too much, but Sookie was entirely too busy laughing and having the best time of her life to notice.

_**The Extremely Elegant Hotel**_

_**Eric and Sookie's Hotel Suite**_

_**Many, many hours later**_

"Oh god Eric!" Sookie pleaded. "Just … get on with it already!"

Eric let out a grunt and spun the wheel. "Right hand red! Oh, my favorite color!" Eric added with a smirk.

After some more groaning and twisting, they collapsed onto the floor, howling with laughter.

Eric's smile faded, his eyes growing dark with want. He hovered above Sookie, reaching out to tuck an escaped golden curl behind her ear. Tracing his hand along her jaw line, he whispered, "I'm so sorry, lover."

Sookie's own smile faltered as she propped herself up on her elbows and muttered an incredibly witty 'huh'. She studied him carefully, swallowing hard in an attempt to tamp down on the panic as well as the bolt of scorching heat that his touch caused to shoot right through her body. "I mean, uh … what for?"

Eric paused for a beat, before breaking out into a devilish grin. "I'm so very sorry that bug up your ass had to die, lover."

Sookie smacked his shoulder playfully before collapsing back onto the floor and dissolving into fits of giggles, complete with violent spasms and snorts. When her laughter finally subsided, she jumped to her feet and bounced over to the bed, picking up the half-consumed bottle of champagne on the way there. Kneeling on the bed, she crooked her finger at him. "C'mere, Eric. Help me finish this," she purred, raising the bottle of champagne to her glass.

"I'll _come_ for you anytime, lover," Eric purred right back, sauntering over to the bed and stretching out beside her with a smug smirk.

Sookie let out another giggle-snort, resting her head in her palm as she propped herself up on her elbow and gazed down at him with hungry eyes.

Eric gave her an appraising look. "Look at you! You're absolutely smashed!"

"Am not!"

"Oh, yes you most certainly are."

"Am. _Not_." Sookie insisted indignantly, before throwing an arm across his chest. "I don't get drunk, silly. I'm the responsible one, remember?" She managed to deliver her line with a straight face, giving him a solemn look for a good full second before giving into the laughter.

When it finally faded, she couldn't help but lean down towards him. Her eyes were fixed on his lips, as if hypnotized.

"Kiss me, Eric," her voice was somewhere in the dangerous territory between a whisper and a moan.

Eric's hands closed around her shoulders, stopping her descent a mere inches from his mouth. "I can't, Sookie."

"What?" she gasped, struggling against his hold to get closer. "Why not?"

Eric held fast. "Because you're drunk. It wouldn't be right."

"No, no, no." she dismissed the notion with an irritated shake of her head. "I'm not drunk—I'm just finally beginning to see what my Gran was talking about all these years."

He didn't let her budge as he implored her with his eyes. "Sookie—_no_. I can't."

Sookie let her head fall to his shoulder, her defeated sigh hot and oh-so-irresistible against his cool skin. Eric was never more grateful for his vampire perks as he bit back the hungry groan and talked down his eager cock.

"Okay, fine," she grumbled, settling into his chest and nuzzling contentedly. "Then tell me about my Gran in the 60s. I'm _dying_ to know what she was like."

Eric wrapped his arm around her, taking a moment to considering his answer.

"She was super groovy, much like her granddaughter," he began, a sentimental smile playing on his lips as he ran his fingers through her hair absentmindedly. "But her heart already belonged to someone else. If you ask me, he was a bit of fairy … but I contented myself with seeing her happy." Eric paused, his eyes drifting far away as he allowed himself to remember. "I'm not sure what it is, but it has got to run in the family. You know, I really _do_ hate feelings … but there must be something in that Stackhouse blood of yours that casts a spell on me."

He paused again, allowing the words space to sink in.

Silence.

"Sookie?"

More silence.

"Sookie? Hello?"

The silence was finally broken … with a soft snore. Chuckling, Eric lifted his head to get a better view of Sookie, who had fallen fast asleep.

_**Vampire League Makeshift Headquarters**_

Eric and Sookie were shown in and led over to Chief Ravenscroft's desk.

"Eric, Sookie, let me bring you up to speed," the Chief began, motioning for them to seat themselves across from her. "Reverend Evil has high-jacked a nuclear warhead and is holding the world ransom for one-hundred billion dollars. If the vampire league doesn't pay up in four days, he's threatening to shoot his load, as it were. And blame it all on us, of course."

"Only two things truly disgust me," Eric muttered with a revolted sneer. "And one is nuclear war."

"What's the other?" The Chief inquired.

"Hmm?"

"What's the other thing you're scared of?" Chief Ravenscroft clarified.

"Oh," Eric replied, shuddering as visions of his other great disgust crowded unwelcomed into his mind. "_Weres_."

"I'm sorry?" Chief Ravenscroft asked.

"Werewolves," Eric replied. "Werecats, Weretigers … all their hideous variations. Wererats, all of them, if you ask me. All that hair." Eric shuddered with utter revulsion. "Disgusting, hairy, dirty smelly nastiness. They make me gag."

Chief Ravenscroft smirked. "Indeed."

Eric opted for a quick change of subject, reaching into his pocket to produce a thick, manila envelope. "Perhaps these photographs are the last piece of the puzzle, Chief."

The Chief broke out into a pleased grin as she looked through the photos. "Ah, most excellent."

Handing the photos over to Chief Ravenscroft, Eric continued. "I've uncovered the details on Project KFV, Extra Crispy. If you leaf through that, you will see there is even a blueprint of the church of that Fellowship of the Sun of theirs."

"KFV?" Sookie inquired.

"That's Kentucky Fried Vampire," Eric sneered with undisguised revulsion .

"Good God!" the Chief gasped, looking through the photos. "An underground missile! Hidden in a 'house of God', no less." The Chief sneered with a disgusted eye roll.

Looking over the Chief's shoulder at the photos, Sookie beamed with pride. "Eric! Where did you find these?"

Chief Ravenscroft was much too busy examining the evidence to notice Eric's silent warning with the shaking of his head. "Oh, Eric did some reconnaissance work for us at Alotta Pelt's penthouse last night."

Sookie's smile vanished, as her big, sad eyes shot up to Eric's.

Eric mouthed a silent 'what', but Chief Ravenscroft just droned away, completely oblivious. "Our next move is to infiltrate the church, then. Any ideas?"

Sookie bit back her tears as she tried to push back the pain of Eric's apparent betrayal, but she finally managed to somehow snap herself out of it. "Oh! Yes, Chief. The Fellowship runs tours of their church. I suggest we infiltrate by posing as would-be converts."

"Oh, I do love the way you think, Stackhouse," the Chief said as she filed away the photos. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around."

With that task accomplished, Chief Ravenscroft closed the drawer and returned her attention to Sookie and Eric, but was distracted when she noticed out of the corner of her eye a petite brunette entering the room. She turned to their new guest, giving her a tender smile before walking out from behind the desk. _"_Eric … there's someone very special I'd like you to meet."

The Chief held out her hand, gesturing for the brunette to come closer.

Wrapping her arm around the woman's waist, Chief Ravenscroft said, "This is my most delectable pet, Amelia."

Amelia reached out her hand. "Mr. Northman, it's nice to finally put a face to all the legends."

Eric ignored the outstretched hand, opting for punching her in the face instead.

Amelia was knocked back with an ear-splitting scream.

Pam sunk to the floor by her side, snarling up at Eric with extended fangs. "Eric! What the hell?"

"That's not a woman, Chief. That's a Were!"

Eric pounced on the poor girl, tugging at her hair.

"Owww!" Amelia shrieked, cradling her head in an attempt to keep her scalp intact. "My hair!"

"Eric! Stop that this instant! Get away from my pet!" Chief Ravenscroft growled.

"Eric!" Sookie joined in, attempting to snap Eric out of his bloodlust-induced haze. "Have you gone mad? Let go of her!"

Eric stumbled backwards, stunned that he could possibly be wrong, as Chief Ravenscroft helped Amelia back to her feet and cradled her in her arms.

"Pammie!" Amelia sobbed into her shoulder, stammering through intermittent sniffles. "I—I don't understand … w-why did he hit me?"

"Don't worry, little one," the Chief soothed, stroking her hair tenderly as she glared with undisguised fury at Eric. "Northman, what the fuck were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry, Chief," Eric replied, scratching the back of his head in utter confusion. "I … I was certain she was a Were."

"Watch your filthy mouth, Viking! You're talking about the future Mrs. Ravenscroft there!"

"Really?" Eric's brow shot up, his jaw dropping to the floor for a split second before he could remember to pick it up. Shaking his head to clear it, he continued, "But, c'mon, Chief, you have to admit it. She is rather … feline. No offense, but if that's a woman, it looks like she likes to scratch … and bite."

Chief Ravenscroft smirked. "As do I, Eric. As. Do. I."

Eric matched the Chief's smirk, looking from her to her pet and back again.

After the silence stretched interminably, Sookie cleared her throat. "Uh … right, well, anyways. I think we'd better get going, Eric."

Chief Ravenscroft glanced at Sookie, before returning her attention to Amelia. Brushing a soft kiss against the top of her head, she led Amelia behind the desk and pulled her to sit in her lap. "Yes, perhaps that is best."

Eric replied with a curt nod, turning to leave with Sookie following close behind.

"Don't forget to keep me fully apprised," the Chief commanded in her trademark cool, bored tone.

"Yes, Chief."

"Oh, and Eric?"

Eric looked back over his shoulder, his hand hovering over the doorknob. "Yes, Chief?"

**{Insert overly-dramatic pause} **

"Be careful."

Eric gave Chief Ravenscroft a fangy grin. "Always."

_**The Extremely Elegant Hotel**_

_**Eric and Sookie's Hotel Suite**_

"Eric, could I talk to you for a sec?" Sookie asked, making her way to the couch in the living room of their suite at the Extremely Elegant Hotel.

"Of course, lover."

Seating herself beside him, Sookie began, "Listen, I know I'm probably just being totally neurotic but I can't shake this suspicious feeling about Number Two's 'companion'," Sookie accentuated the word with a disgusted air quote. "You know … that Pelt woman."

Sookie looked up at Eric, uncertainty clouding her eyes and Eric signaled for her to go on with a nod of his head. "I don't want to sound paranoid … but I—well, you see, I haven't had the best luck in the love department, if you know what I mean. I guess I _have_ been known to have some trust issues in the past. Anyways … sorry." Sookie looked away, twisting her hands in her lap.

Eric closed his hand over Sookie's reassuringly. "Oh, no need to be sorry, lover. You're absolutely right to be suspicious."

Sookie's head snapped up. "_WHAT_?"

"I gave her a ride on the Northman pole." Eric replied, not even a hint of remorse in his answer. In fact, it sounded suspiciously like a gloat.

Sookie shrank back, yanking her hands away. "I can't believe you, Eric! How could you just sleep with that … that … that skanky bitch-ho!"

Eric shrugged, an amused smirk playing at his lips. "It's all just a part of being an international Vamp of mystery, darling. Hey, it's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta save the world … even if it does mean getting more than your hands dirty every so often."

Sookie jumped up with huff and stalked off to the bedroom.

"Oh, come on, lover. Don't make such a big deal out of this! Alotta meant nothing to me!"

Sookie whipped around, snarling. "Well it means something to me, Eric! I'm not one of those fangbanging bimbos you're used to."

"But it was just a shag," Eric argued, his face and tone instantly somber. "Sookie … you're everything to me."

"You just don't get it, do you?"

Impossible as it might physically be, the coldness in her voice made the vampire shiver.

She hurriedly shut the doors, before Eric could see the tears in her eyes.

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_A/N: If you liked it, please oh please press that li'l green button and tell me why! *clasps hands together and bats lashes furiously*_


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